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When you first walk into a restaurant, there are many things that make a first impression. Restaurant designers understand those first seconds of contact and capitalize on them. Lita, a new Mediterranean-style restaurant in Marylebone, left me with two strong impressions: (a) Damn, the staff look good (more on that later) and (b) there’s so much space!

People in the hospitality industry are obsessed with space. It’s usually rented, so somewhere in the back of your mind you have a number, an amount of money that each square meter costs. You know that the space you’re in is always a little tighter than you’d like, and most of all you know that any space that doesn’t have a chair on it and a paying customer’s butt is just not being used hard enough. That’s ingrained in us. That’s why it’s so strange to walk into Lita and see so much of this incredibly expensive floor. It feels like acres. A wide, classy boulevard leads from the door to the open kitchen. The kind of space you could fire a cannon into in the event of a popular uprising. You could probably play volleyball in the space between the bar and the first tables… and between those tables there are large liberating spaces where staff and customers can move easily. How on earth can an operator afford this unimaginable luxury?

Let’s talk about the menu.

The first item, with no further text to contextualise, is ‘Australian Black Winter Truffle (£30 extra)’. I have no problem with the amount. I would happily spend that amount if it came with fresh pasta with plenty of butter. I might even have considered the truffle if it had been offered as an extra garnish on the upcoming ‘Peak District T-Bone’. But offering it for me to use in a non-specific way – imported truffle served like HP sauce – is jarring. It’s like having a sign in the bathroom saying ‘We do not provide toilet paper. Please help yourself from our basket of absorbent kittens’.

The rest of the menu rises like an aria after the first false note. I would be perfectly content to have “smoked Basque sardines, ajo blanco, cherries” tattooed on my body just so I could always have it with me to read in dark times. But even more tempting was a closed phalanx of steamed St Austell Bay mussels on a toast base with a creamy underlayer of gribiche sauce. This is the stuff dreams are made of.

Lita has a “concept”. A waiter came over and asked me if it was my first time here. When I said yes, he said he would be right back to explain the concept. The concept turned out to be “largely Italian/British ingredients/small plates/sharing dishes”, which was perhaps not the paradigm shift I was hoping for. 98 times out of 100, it’s the same concept.

The mussels were great, though. So was a plate of raw Fuentes bluefin tuna under a layer of finely chopped corno peppers. I’ve never consciously eaten corno before, and the way they’d balanced the sweetness with capers and jazzed it up with coriander made me deeply happy. It was similar with a salad of raw romaine zucchini, interspersed with chunks of braised artichoke hearts and “infused,” as chefs like to tell us, with a smooth ricotta, some basil and mint leaves. The cooking here is confident and extremely competent. Above all, you get the feeling that someone with an excellent palate is keeping a firm hand over what comes over the pass.

Now onto the more substantial phases of the concept: a shallow iron “prospector” pan with rice cooked in squid ink to a nutty, almost crispy consistency, then topped with almost sashimi-like Scottish langoustines and a dollop of smooth aioli. It’s almost what Brits would call paella, but I already know I’ve doomed myself to be quietly murdered by vengeful Spaniards.

With Cornish lamb, smoked aubergine, Italian courgettes and candied tomatoes, I was playing it safe. The dish was a comforting Elizabeth David-style dinner party meal, made irresistible and a touch more modern by the sheep’s milk curd mixture that turned the juice into a kind of freshly made sauce.

As we approach the climax of The Concept’s third act, the menu features Cornish turbot (£120), Peak District T-bone steak (£130) and Galician beef rib (£160). As you know, I rarely talk about money, but this is an exception. Although conceptually these dishes were designed to be shared, it’s the first time I’ve looked at a lunch and thought, no… I really can’t justify that with the cost. It does explain how they can afford all that lovely space, though.

I’m a little confused about the strikingly good-looking staff. It’s noticeable. You’ll notice it. And it’s another one of those first impressions, isn’t it?

And I have to say, my first impression was one of unease. In 2024, no one hires people based on their appearance anymore? Why? Am I supposed to identify with them? This isn’t LA. I’m fat, old, and bald. For the most part, they make me feel awkward, ugly, and irrelevant. Or are they part of the carefully designed and curated ambience? So that I can appreciate them like decorations? God, I don’t even want to think about that.

While parts of the London restaurant scene are moving inexorably upmarket, Lita represents something completely new for me. I loved the food, the service was impeccable and the prices are no more shocking than we have to get used to. What I am less comfortable with is eating in a restaurant designed for people better than me.

Follow Tim on Instagram @timhayward

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